


Woman Of The Wind

by ArtemisWalsh



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: 1950's AU, 50's AU, Cold War, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 07:11:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10985982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemisWalsh/pseuds/ArtemisWalsh
Summary: A spy becomes a fugitive, and a fugitive becomes a refugee. An elf crosses the continent to escape an organization that gives even the Dark Brotherhood pause. A lost soul finds homes in places she never expected. And a country is changed forever.





	Woman Of The Wind

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you think to yourself "What would Cold War!Skyrim be like?" And then you decided to actually write it.

Elayel’s head flew backward, into a wood board. Her eyes flew open and slammed shut as a wave of pain rippled across her head. She could feel herself jostled around, and for a moment thought she was still on a boat. She had been on the high seas, nestled into a small hammock with a few inches of wood between her and a freezing sea. The ship had gone up, and down, and up, and down.

But as she managed to keep her eyes open, she began to see trees. And mountains. She was in the back of a truck. Two men sat on each side of her, and three more faced her. Two of the men had Imperial uniforms, and assault rifles by their side.

“Hey,” The Imperial facing her said, “the Bosmer’s awake.”

The Imperial by Elayel’s side grabbed her wrist. “Don’t try anything fancy.”

She looked down, and saw that her wrists were bound together with robe. It was solid bindings, nothing that could be easily broken or undone on her end. Crap. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” She looked from soldier to soldier. “You boys are taking me to the best hotel in Skyrim. I’m going to have dinner with the High King, and then after that, I’m going to fuck his queen.”

The soldier next to her raised his hand, and slapped her on the back of the head. The slap was light, but reignited the earlier pain of the wood board, and the Elf grunted as she doubled over in pain.

A chuckle emerged from the uniformed man across from her. “You’ve got a smart mouth, elf.” Its owner had a thick Nord accent. Elayel looked up to see a young Nord leaning down to look at her. He had blonde hair, some of it tied up in a braid. His uniform had a blue sash around it, and a patch with a bear on his shoulder.

“You’re a Stormcloak,” she grunted, still reeling from the pain in her head.

He chuckled. “I’m Ralof. And despite what you may have heard about my brothers and sisters, I have no problem with elves.”

A lot of humans said that. Few of them meant it. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

Ralof smirked. “You were trying to cross the border, weren’t you?”

She nodded.

“Walked right into the same trap we did, eh?”

Elayel shook her head slowly. “No, I got picked up by some scouts. I think they might have been looking for you guys.” She turned back to the soldiers. “Now that you’ve got ‘em, I don’t suppose that means I can go?”

“Not a chance.”

            “I got the same.” A new voice spoke up. It was the other Nord, to Ralof’s side. This one wore plain clothes, and

“What?”

“I also got caught by a patrol. I stole a car in Riften. I was trying to get to Hammerfell. But an Imperial patrol caught me, while they were looking for these guys.” He spits. “Damn rebels. Things were fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy.”

The truck driver reached his hand back and banged on the back of the tractor. “Shut up back there.”

The Nord from Riften kept talking. “You and me, we shouldn’t be here. It’s these rebels the Empire want.”

“We’re soldiers of the Empire,” one of the soldiers shouted, “and our charge is to defend the Empire and its laws from criminals like you. Every one of you is a criminal. Rebel, thief, or vagabond.”

His voice cut a silence through the truck. All Elayel could hear was the truck’s engine, and its tires on the dirt road.

The elf turned to the man on her left. He had been quiet so far; Elayel had only known of his presence because his wide frame. As she looked him over, three things stuck out to her: he wore a full uniform with medals, a wolf’s pelt hung from his shoulders as if it was sewn onto his uniform, and he was gagged. He stared up towards the mountains, a defeated longing in his eyes. “What’s up with you, huh?” She nudged him. “What’s your story?”

“Watch your tongue!” Ralof snapped. “You’re speaking to Jarl Ulfric Stormcloack, the true High King.”

Ulfric’s gaze turned to Elayel, his eyes narrowing and sharpening into a look of anger. She diddn’t have to guess what angered him.

“Jarl Ulfric?” The thief gasped in awe and fear. “You’re the leader of the rebellion…oh gods…the war is over.”

“Don’t place your beds just yet. There will be many, many sons and daughters of Skyrim to carry on the fight.”

The driver turned back again. “Shut up! I mean it!”

The truck fell silent. The two soldiers in back shuffled in their seats, making sure that their rifles were visible. A road sign flashed by. Elayel turend to look, and a saw a different sign on the opposite direction in the road. _NOW LEAVING IMPERIAL JURISDICTION: Fort Helgen._ The truck’s radio crackled.

“Repeat?” The driver said. “Copy that.” He hung up the radio and turned around. “We’re unloading at Fort Helgen.”

“Helgen?” Ralof’s eyes widened. “I used to be sweet on a girl from there.”

“A girl from a fort?”

“It’s not just…it started as a fort, on the border between Skyrim and Cyrodiil. Now it’s a town around a fort.”

Elayel sighed. “An Imperial fort.”

“Mhm.”

Houses began to dot the roadside. Signs advertising local restaurants and lumber and furniture companies popped up. The houses drew closer together, until the trucks turned onto a side road and came across a gate and fence. The convoy stopped, and Elayel turned around. The road had turned up a hill, and below it lay a town of old houses and curved roads. The highway bisected the town, and the shops that grew along it stuck up just slightly above the older houses. Then the truck started up again, and the convoy drove through a gate.

The base was alive with commotion. Flags bearing the Imperial dragon covered every building. And from every building, soldiers rushed out to watch the trucks. Some had full gear on, with rifles in their hands. Others had thrown on a pair of pants, and a shirt or tank top. They bunched together, as close to the trucks as they could, shouting insults and jeers at the prisoners.

“Traitors!”

“Criminal scum!”

“Murderers!”

“Death to the Stormcloaks!”

Elayel turned her gaze up, trying to ignore the shouters around her. Suddenly, the crowd’s roar ceased to surround the truck, instead flowing from behind them. A line of soldiers stood at attention, holding back their compatriots.

The trucks parked shoulder to shoulder against one wall. Elayel’s heart sank when she turned her head and saw a concrete wall painted with bullet marks.

“What is that?” The thief asked

“A canvas for the firing squad.” This was not the first time she had seen these.

The two soldiers disembarked, and grabbed the arm of the one sitting next to them. Elayel quietly hopped down off of the truck, stretching her back and cracking her joints the moment her feet touched the ground. By the time the thief was out of the truck, he was pale and sweating.

“No! Please! We’re not rebels.”

“Best say your prayers now.” Ralof chimed in.

“Kynareth, Mara, Shor, Akatosh. Divines, please help me.”

“Shut up, thief.” Elayel snarled, elbowing him. “They’re not here for us. Keep quiet, and they’ll just throw us in irons.”

Ralof chuckled. “You really think that, elf?”

“I can try,” she replied.

“That’s commendable,” the Nord said, “but don’t fool yourself. Shor calls your name too.”

Elayel clenched her jaw. This wasn’t over for her yet. At worse, she would be thrown in jail for a couple years, an deported back to Cyrodiil. She could cross the border again, without any stupid mistakes. All she had to worry about was the wrong sort of people learning that she was in an Imperial prison.

A car pulled into the courtyard, and an Imperial general got out. He wore a red uniform, with dragons on the shoulders. He was old, with gray hair and lines on his face, but he looked strong and fit.

“General Tullius. The military governor.” Ralof spat.

“Jarl Ulfric.” Tullius snarled. “We finally meet in person.”

Ulfric let out a struggled grunt through his gags. Tullius grabbed him by the front of his uniform.

“You started this war,” he said, quiet enough for only those next to him to hear. “I want you to know that. I want you to know, as you rot in Aetherius or Shor or wherever you think you’ll end up. This is on you. All these men and women who will die today, their deaths are on you. All those innocent lives taken in the war, their deaths are on you!” He grinned, and raised his voice. “But it’s all over now. With your death, your rebellion will fall, and this country, and the Empire, will know peace.”

“There will be more.” Ralof said.

“What was that?” Tullius released his grip on Ulfric and looked for the voice.

“There will be more.” He repeated. “More leaders, more rebels! Why do you think half the country joined our cause? The Nords are angry!”

The general shook his head. “Then we will stamp out as many fires as we need to.”

A Nord woman in Imperial uniform approached the general, stood at attention, and saluted. “General Tullius! Base Commander reporting.”

Tullius saluted back. “Base Commander.”

The commander’s face turned pale as she looked past Tullius to the line of prisoners. “Is that him?”

“That it is. But not for long. I want all the rebels against the wall.”

A quiet murmur went through the line. “And there it is.” Ralof said under his breath.

“What about the others?” One of the soldiers asked. All the eyes of the courtyard turned to the Nord and the Elf, both sticking out in their plain clothes.

The thief began wimpering. “Oh gods. Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods.”

Elayel slammed her foot down on his. “Be quiet!” She hissed. “Let me do the talking. This isn’t over.”

He stopped crying, but still shook from head to toe.

“They’re not prisoners.” The commander said.

“We’re not.” The elf chimed in. “I was crossing the border, and he stole a car.”

Tullius raised an eyebrow. “Well, you’re certainly honest. But what’s to stop me from collecting the Empire’s judgement in blood?”

“Because you’re soldiers of the Empire’s laws.” She replied. “Besides, we’d be a waste of bullets.”

Tullius shook his head. “I am a soldier of the Empire. It’s laws, and it’s honor. You want to speak to me about the Empire’s laws, when you’re in violation of them?” He stepped forward again, his face hovering inches from Elayel’s. “And for your talk of wasting bullets, it would be a far greater waste to house and feed you in a cell.” He backed off. “All prisoners shall be executed!”

Elayel’s stomach tightened. She felt her heart stopping. Was this really where it ended? Did her escape end here, in an Imperial fort in Skyrim? Amazingly, the thief had frozen up instead of breaking down. He stared across the courtyard with eyes glazed over, to the mountains barely visible over the roofs of the buildings.

“Have your name ready when the list reaches you!” The commander barked. “Have your name ready when the list reaches you!”

Ralof scoffed. “Imperials love their damn lists.”

To their left, a soldier walked down the line with a clipboard in hand. Some Stormcloaks hung their heads low, barely muttering their names. Some stood tall, shouting out. Some spat.

“I knew him.”

“Who?” Elayel asked.

“The soldier taking names.” Ralof replied. “His name is Hadvar. We grew up in the same village.”

“Your name?” Hadvar the soldier had reached them.

The two scowled at each other, before Ralof said “Ralof of Riverwood,” dramatically stressing every syllable.

Next to them, Elayel shook her head. How soon until this was over?

“And you?” The soldier turned to the gagged Jarl.

“Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm.”

Hadvar spat on the Jarl’s face, then walked to the Elf. “Your name?”

She clenched her jaw so tight. In the back corner of her eye, tears were starting to form. This wasn’t fair. She had taken such a risk, and tried to hard to get away, just to make one stupid mistake in the midst of crossing the border and get caught by the Imperials. As she became aware of her whole body, from the posture of her feet to expression, she realized that she had been rubbing her finger.

“Elf!” The soldier barked. “Your name.”

Elayel snapped back to reality. “Elayel,” she said, before she could think of another name. If she was going to die, what was the point?

“Nord in plainclothes!”

The thief remained silent and still. Every muscle on his face was stretched tight, and his eye was twitching. He seemed to be trying not to cry.

Ralof sighed. “Face your death with some courage, thief.”

At the word thief, his eyes bulged. He lunged forward and grabbed the soldier. “No! Please! I’m not a rebel! I can’t die here! You-”

A gunshot cut his pleading short. The commander had drawn her pistol and fired two shots into the thief, splitting open the back of his head. He released the soldier and fell limp to the dirt.

“Gods.” Ralof said, shaking his head. “Not what you expected from Skyrim, huh?”

She bit her tongue. “I wasn’t expecting much.”

“Oh, come on.” He turned to her. “You were crossing the border into rebel territory. You came here for something.”

“I didn’t _come_ here I…” She paused. “I was running.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Running from who?”

Elayel’s stomach turned, and her jaw clenched. She knew perfectly what the Stormcloaks thought of her former profession. What would this Nord think? “Fuck it. We’re all dead anyway.” She breathed in. “I deserted my post. I was a Thalmor agent.”

Ralof’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth, but no wit came out. The two stared at each other: a rebel captured by the Empire he hated, and an Elven ex-spy who, after years on the run, finally found herself in chains. This was not the ending either of them had hoped for.

“All prisoners against the wall!” Tullius called out. Soldiers and commanders grabbed prisoners by their arms and shoulders, and pulled them across the courtyard to the tall concrete wall.

“Soldiers!” The commander shouted. “Formation!” The Imperial soldiers formed a line of their own, sounding off a chorus of boots. Barely audible over this was a distant roaring. It sounded as if a plane was passing overhead.

Elayels ears twitched. “Did you hear that?”

“Yeah.” Ralof said. “Sounded like it was coming from the mountains.”

“It’s nothing!” Tullius barked. “Proceed.”

“We had birds that sounded like that in…Valenwood.” The name of her homeland caught in her throat. It came back to her: The forests, the shining lakes, the colorful animals. And she would never see it again. She would die here, in an Imperial fort on the other side of the world “Ten years service, three years of running, and this is where it ends.”

“Soldiers! Attention” At the commander’s command, a chorus stomped again in unison.

“I’ll see you in Sovngarde.” Ralof said.

“Ready weapons!” Guns rattled as soldiers pulled their bolts back and prepared to fire. “Take aim!

Like a light turned off, then on again, a shadow passed over the soldiers. All turned their heads up to see a winged creature soaring over the base. It had ink-black scales, and it let out a horrid roar. That was the sound heard earlier.

“I don’t believe it.” Ralof gasped.

Elayel’s jaw dropped. She had never seen something that big. “What is that thing?”

“A dragon.”

She turned to look at him. “What the hell is a dragon?”

Just as she asked, it had flown around and landed on the roof of one of the buildings overlooking the courtyard. Now that it was stationary, Elayel could see the jagged edges on its scales, which each stuck out like a lizard’s spine. “Zu’u vokrii.” The dragon spoke. Its voice rumbled like a deep drum.” It stretched itself up, and spread its wings wide enough to cover the courtyard. “I am the First-Born of Akatosh, the World Eater. Are you with the usurpers, or do you bend your knee to me?”

All the occupants of the courtyard looked at each other. No one seemed to know how to respond. Slowly, Tullius walked forward.

“I bend my knee only to the Emperor,” he replied.

The dragon’s eyes widened. “Emperor…an Emperor of man…I have been gone for too long.” It turned its head to the sky and breathed in. Dead silence hung in the air as all watched. Then, louder than ever, it opened its mouth and let out a deafening roar. Windows cracked on the trucks and buildings. The courtyard’s occupants doubled over, grasping at their ears. Above them, the sky turned gray as a circle of clouds formed out of nowhere.

“Move!” Ralof shouted.

His words broke through the trance that had taken the rebels, and not a moment too soon. Out of the gray clouds in the sky, flaming rocks fell onto the courtyard, striking Imperial soldiers and trucks. With one stretch of its wings, the dragon took off into the sky, out of the path of the barrage. Ulfric had taken off running towards the building it had been perched on, and the rest of the Stormcloacks followed him. The dozen men and single elf clamored through the door, into a small room, overpowering the two Imperials who managed to get trapped inside with them as one of the rebels closed the door. Jarl Ulfric breathed in, and a muffled roar came from within his gags, which shattered outwards.

“That was no dragon.” He said. “That was Alduin, of the legends.”

“You could do that all along?” Elayel gasped. She was nearly out of breath, and the back of her head was still sore.

“We were surrounded by Imperial soldiers. I could have broken free, but that would have meant immediate death for me and my comrades.” He paused. “I did not think they would be executing us the very day they captured us.”

“Don’t speak that way to your king, elf!” One of the Stormcloaks spat.

“It’s alright.” Ulfric held his hand up. “She faced her death with calm and satisfaction. In my eyes, she has proved herself worthy,” he narrowed those eyes, “despite her past.”

Elayel gulped. It was one thing to be an elf in a truck with two Stormcloaks, but another to be a Thalmor in a room with a dozen Stormcloaks.

“You seem like you know how to run.” He looked around the room. Some of the Stormcloaks were on the floor, or clutching wounded parts. “Ralof. I want you and the elf to find a way out of here. Two will be faster than twelve.”

“Jarl Ulfric…” he began, but Ulfric held his hand up.

“Someone must tell the world of what happened here. Someone must survive this day.”

Ralof pursed his lips, and nodded. “Talos protect you.”

Ulfric placed a hand on his heart, responding “Kyne guide you.”

“Can someone cut me loose?” Elayel chimed in, her hands still tied up in bonds.

Ulfric took a knife from one of the Imperial corpses, and cut Elayels bonds. Then, without pulling the knife away, he grabbed Elayels shoulder.

“Your name..Elayel, yes?”

She nodded.

“Elayel,” he continued. “if Ralof dies, the sons of Skyrim will not rest until Shor has claimed your soul as well. Is that understood?”

She nodded. “I’ll keep him alive, but I’m not dying for him.”

“Very well.” He lowered the knife “That’s the best I’m getting out of you.”

Ralof moved to the door. “Let’s go, elf!” She nodded, and he opened it. The two of them stepped out.

The base was engulfed in chaos. Craters and debris littered the yard. The buildings were in flame. The unmistakable roar of the dragon came from above, but smoke had begun to fill the sky, and Elayel could not see it anywhere.

“Hear that?”

“Yeah, I do. We need to move.”

They made their way across the yard. The crowd of soldiers was gone, and the base seemed to be wide open. Charred bodies lay all around, some melted beyond recognition as human.

“What are we looking for?” Eyalel shouted. She could barely hear her own voice over the fires.

“A gate! We came in through one, we’ll get out that way!”

It was not so easy to find the way back. Smoke from the buildings choked the streets and hid the surroundings from view. Several times, Elayel could see nothing around but smoke. Yet she and Ralof moved on, trying to find a way out of this mess.

“Are we in Oblivion?” Ralof shouted.

“Not yet!” She turned a corner to see the gate, leading down the hill. All around the gate, Imperial soldiers converged on gun trucks, which were spraying bullets into the air. “Not safe!” She grabbed the Nord’s arm, and looked around for a safe place to hide. Upon finding a building not on fire, she pulled Ralof over to it.

As they hurried inside, Elayel slammed the door shut, and quickly looked around the room. “Sewer access,” she said, pointing to a sign on one of the doors.  “We can get out here.”

Ralof looked out the window. “We need to go back.”

She turned to face him with an incredulous stare. “ _What?_ ”

“We have a way out! We have to tell the others about this.”

“Are you even sure you’ll find your way back?” Elayel pointed to the window, which was covered in dust. “We barely found this place through the smoke and debris.”

“I have to protect my King!” He shouted.

“And what did your king tell you to do?”

Ralof pursed his lips in frustration. He raised a fist, and then let go. “He said to escape, and survive.”

“That’s what we’re doing?”

“We can help them all survive!”

“There is no time!” She tried to grab his arm again, but he slapped it away.

“You didn’t have to pull me.” He grabbed his sleeve and straightened it where Elayel had bunched it up from her grip.

“I wasn’t about to let a dozen Imperials fill you with lead.”

Ralof stuck his lip up. “I could have noticed them. I don’t need your elven senses for that. And why do you want me alive anyways?”

She gritted her teeth. She didn’t have time for this. “You know this land. I don’t.”

His eyes widened. “You want me to be a GUIDE?”

“Yes!” Elayel said. She could hear a noise on the ceiling above them.

“Do you think I owe you something?” He shouted.

The crunching sound above them grew louder. A small stream of dust fell from the ceiling in between the two of them. Before she could think, the elf had grabbed the rebel by the chest and pulled him towards the door to the sewer. Just as they had moved, the ceiling came down, piling debris high on the spot where they had been. The two stood by the door, eyes wide, staring at what could have been their death.

“I think you do now.” She said.

Ralof looked away, and swore. “Alright, FINE.” He said, pushing the door open and storming through it. Elayel took one last look at the wreck of the room, and followed him.


End file.
